


Sinterklaas on Deck

by DRiver2U



Series: Sliding into Home [5]
Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Baseball, Gen, Sinterklaas, Stanford University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 02:42:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13114293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DRiver2U/pseuds/DRiver2U
Summary: This part of the series takes place about 10 years after part 4. The 4 main characters make an appearance in the story. Some gather to celebrate an Americanized version of the Sinterklaas holiday.  Non-canon. Some discussions of sex and childbirth.





	Sinterklaas on Deck

**Author's Note:**

> Sinterklaas holiday is celebrated in the Netherlands and in some Dutch-American homes on the evening of December 5. All original characters are owned by Rob Thomas. All mistakes are mine.

The small hand slides across the screen dragging icons and opening programs. He knows the electronic device is off limits to him, but he can't help himself from watching the power of his fingertips. He sits on his knees on the dining room chair, bent forward so his body leans onto the table surface. An open _Blueberries for Sal_ book rests on the table opposite him. His older brother reclines on his stomach under the table drawing a rendering of a cockpit from memory. The pencil he uses has no eraser left on it, so he makes every movement precise. The two boys don't speak to each other and instead concentrate on their respective activities. They are alone together in the room. 

"Rien," the high-pitched voice whispers from above disturbing the quiet in the room. There's no answer to the cry, so he tries again. He bends down and ducks his head under the table and whispers again. "Rini."

The older boy doesn't bother to look up from his paper when he grumbles, "What?"

"LoLo's on the puter," he whispers knowing he may be punished for playing with Veronica's laptop and magically making Logan appear on the screen. 

The dark-haired boy sits upright in his foxhole and scrambles to the chair his brother is using. He knocks the younger boy away with his elbow and looks at the computer. He waves at the screen and turns on the microphone and speakers. 

"Hey, guys. What're you doing at my house?" Logan asks through the ether. Behind the boys' heads, he sees the familiar decor of the home he shares with his long-term girlfriend, although even when he's in the United States, his time in that condo, in that city is always limited by his career obligations. His hair is shorter than the last time the boys saw him, when they were together in person before he left for his latest deployment. They'd made promises to each other about letters and emails and not growing up too fast, but not even the correspondence pledge would be maintained. 

"We're at Noni's," Willem responds, "writing poems." 

"Oh, that's right. It's Sinterklaas night, isn't it?" Logan asks knowing there is only one reason those children take time to write poems, and Will's attempts at writing are not enough to create more than crooked letters let alone rhyming words linked into coherent thoughts. He looks at the older boy and greets him. "What's up, Rien? You talking to me?" 

Rien smiles at the screen and then ducks under the table and grabs the picture from the floor. "Look what I'm drawing," he says as he shows it to the camera and makes sure to cover his brother's face in the process. "It's just like your airplane." 

"It sure is. Good recollection, kiddo," Logan says not at all amazed that the boy would have memorized the interior of his plane with only a ten minute look several months ago. "I hope you're going to send it to me when you're done."

Rien entered the world more than five years ago. While pregnant, Katie told her anxious husband Mateo that she was born to bear children. She'd had no morning sickness, little fatigue, and even waved off maternity clothes in favor of leggings and long shirts. Childbirth was so quick and easy she had been ready to leave in the afternoon if that had been allowed. The first 36 hours were a breeze with the hospital staff available at any moment. They had all joked that by the time the baby arrived home from the hospital he could walk around the block, pee standing up, write letters in four languages, and calculate the statistical probability of which preschool would accept him. 

The one thing he couldn't do was sleep. 

It was as if he had known upon his arrival that he had too much to learn and there would be nothing to hold him down, not even the biological need for sleep. It hadn't taken long for Mateo and Katie to realize they were floundering, so Mateo's omniscient surrogate mother had come to his rescue. Again. Veronica enlisted the aid of her boyfriend/partner/best friend Logan, and they had taken turns keeping the baby company while the other adults decompressed. 

When Katie looked into the baby's eyes, she swore she could see the soul of Mateo's mother laughing at her. Veronica was convinced the boy's temperament was retribution for the scowls she had endured from a teenage Mateo. Logan found the situation humorous with a side of justice. The first time Rien slept three hours in a row, the unshakeable Katie had sunk next to the side of her bed and bawled hoping that the worst had passed. She was too optimistic. 

The boy was born with dark skin, dark hair, and dark eyes like his father, but everyone insisted that he looked like Katie's family. He was off-the-charts long and his fingers and toes indicated there would be several growth spurts throughout high school and even college. But his personality seemed to be all inherited from his father who swore he had never been _that_ bad. That deep down, maybe way deep down, he was an easy-going guy who liked sleep. No one believed him. _Karma_ , they would say under their breaths. 

The little guy's arms and legs moved constantly. It was as if his infant body was trying to zoom into adulthood, as if his body couldn't keep up with all the information his brain was trying to take in and process. The only time he seemed to settle was in Logan's arms. Mateo was pissed the child had taken so quickly to the man who was still not a legal member of their extended family. But he also couldn't help but be thankful there was one person who could scoop up the child and allow the rest of them to sleep for a couple of hours. 

"Did you get my box?" Rien asks Logan. "I sent you a Sinterklaas package." 

"I didn't, buddy," Logan replies. "But you know it sometimes takes a long time to get things to me." Logan sees the look of defeat in the boy's face change to resolve. Logan is sure he is coming up with an invention to make postal deliveries faster to the middle of the ocean. 

"Did you know Mostir's a super big boy?" Will asks the screen and Rien shakes his head and rolls his eyes. 

"Monster. There's an "n" in the middle of the word. Monster," he repeats before turning back to look at Logan. "How'd I get stuck with a brother who knows nothing?" 

"You're supposed to be teaching him," Logan responds. "Patience, Rien. And love and kindness. You're lucky to have a good brother. Remember we've talked about that. Another giant boy, huh? That should be interesting." 

"I remember what I wrote in my poem to you. Do you want me to recite it, Logan?" Rien asks the man from whom he always wants approval. 

"Then I won't be surprised when the mail arrives. What else is in the box?" 

"Chocolate coins and a chocolate 'L' and _pepernoten_ and _schuimpjes_ and oranges and some of my drawings of Sinterklaas," Rien replies. "The oranges are in a can. Non said she didn't think we should send fresh ones. They might rot or spoil. Non helped, but the box is only from me. No one else. Definitely not from Will." 

Logan never tires of hearing the small boys refer to his girlfriend with the non-grandmotherly title of _Non_. He remembers the early days of Rien's speech development when he would totter around their condo with a non-stop litany of "Non. Non. Non. Non. Lo. Lo. Lo. Lo. Noni. Noni. Noni. Noni. Lo-y. Lo-y. Lo-y. Lo-y. Non. Non. Non. Non." The constant noise made him want to tape the boy's mouth closed. Instead, he turned up the speakers and taught the boy how to move and clap to a beat. 

"Got it. Your little brother's been no help to you at all," Logan says with a laugh. As much of a challenge the older boy is, he finds that he misses him the most when he is away from their family for several months. Well, he misses his Veronica the most, the girlfriend he sees too rarely but has known for so much of his life. But Rien is different. He looks at Logan without judgment, admires him without question, and loves without qualifications. He thinks Rien's better than a son because there was never such a bond between him and his own father.

"You coming for Sitterklaas, LoLo?" Will asks. 

"Sinterklaas. There's an "n" in the middle of the word. Sinterklaas. How many time do I have to tell you that?" Rien scolds as he shakes his head. "And he can't come. He's on the computer. You know when he's on the computer he's flying his plane. Don't be so stupid." 

Will's bottom lip emerges. "You're mean," he states, not for the first or last time that day. 

"If you're going to cry, you better go in the kitchen with Non. All you do is cry, cry, cry. When are you ever going to grow up?" Rien asks the 3-year old. 

"Hey, Will," Logan says. "Can you go find Non and tell her to come talk to me? Think you can do that for me?" 

"Yeah," the latte-haired child says as he slides off the chair. It's hard to imagine the two brothers could be related and with just a couple years difference in age. 

Willem wasn't born with the dark tones of his brother or father, but he wasn't the light blond of his uncles and grandfather. He was somewhere in the middle with lighter eyes and skin. He was also sensitive. That's what they'd decided to call it, sensitive. He had been an easy baby to carry and birth, but that was where the similarities to his brother ended. He slept from the moment he arrived. He was quiet and sweet and smiled. He liked to snuggle and give kisses. He was above average in height, weight, and every milestone, but he liked other children and played well in groups. 

Rien, on the other hand, had yet to find another child who could keep his attention for more than 10 minutes. Mateo and Katie had debated about how to educate their baby genius. If public school couldn't give him the education he required, they could provide the extra book-learning at home to challenge him. What he needed was friends, friends his own age. So they decided to keep him at the local school to encourage more and better peer socialization. What Mateo found most exasperating was that his firstborn's best friend was a fighter pilot in the United States navy. He had been determined to change that. 

"You said you'd send me an email this week," Rien says to Logan. "You promised. I checked every day. Before school and after. And before bed. There's been no email." 

"Sorry about that," Logan replies, still unused to being reprimanded by a 5-year old. "It's been a crazy week. I'll do it soon. Promise." 

Logan sees Veronica walking up behind Rien with Will nestled by her side. His face is streaked with tears and his breath comes and goes in gasps. "Hiya, handsome," she says as she sits next to Rien on the chair. Will curls into her tighter hiding his face away from his brother. Veronica wraps her free arm around Rien and pulls him into her body. She kisses his forehead hoping more affection will change his demeanor. 

"God, you're a sight for sore eyes," Logan sighs. "It's been a shitty week. Sorry, I mean it's been a tough week."

" _Tough week_?" Veronica thinks. " _It's been a tough three months_." But she doesn't say that. There are still too many months to go on this rotation to think like that. Too many years left before he's agreed to retire. "I bet you wish you were here making chocolate cupcakes with me." 

"I would definitely like to be near you and chocolate," Logan responds and winks. 

"I'm trying something new this year. I'm making chocolate letters to go on top of the cupcakes and chocolate covered oranges. I'm becoming quite the chocolatier. Like a chocolate fairy. I'll have to show you my skills the next time we're in the same room together." 

"And which room would that be?" Logan flirts seeing only Veronica's blue eyes when he's speaking to her. 

"The kitchen," Rien says. "Where else do you make cupcakes?" 

"Right you are, Rini," Veronica says pulling them back to reality. She's surprised that's the end of the conversation with the curious boy. 

"Got your ticket?" Logan asks. 

"Yep. Did you message Trina to get her ass," she stumbles as she looks at the boys, "you know, her ass...ter...bury, yeah, her Asterbury out of our flat?"

"I did, but that doesn't mean my hard-working, trustworthy, lovely, self-sufficient sister will have actually vacated the premises. Feel free to call up any friendly or not-so friendly London detective you might know to evict her." Logan makes a mental note to recalculate the time difference between the middle of nowhere and Greenwich Mean Time for their next computer chat session. "When are you off?"

"Leaving Tuesday," Veronica replies and there is a sudden cry from both boys. Even tough-guy Rien moves his hands to cover his face and his shoulders begin to shake. "Way to bring the mood down. Thanks for that."

"I thought there was a rule about not crying before Sinterklaas arrives," Logan tries to soothe. 

"That's not a rule because he's not real," Rien spits. 

"Who's not real?" Willem asks sucking in breath and moving his head from Veronica's chest. 

Rien looks between Logan and Veronica who are both shaking their heads at him. They know Veronica can't return the children back to their home with Will not believing in Sinterklaas. 

"The Asterbury chocolate fairy," Rien acquiesces. 

**********

Mateo hears the music through the front door as he makes his way up the steps of the front porch. Prince at top volume. Good. He hopes that means Katie may be feeling playful. He takes out his phone as he opens the front door and uses the app to turn down the volume of the music system. He doesn't want to scare her if she doesn't hear him enter their home. 

"Babe, it's just me," he says as he closes the door behind him and he hears her respond to his greeting. The wife he's still madly in love with stands at the kitchen island with a knife in her hand surrounded by oranges, clementines, tangerines, grapes, and almond slivers. He walks towards her and stops at the refrigerator grabbing the plastic bottle with MATEO MATEO MATEO written in black letters all over the bottle. He takes a long swig of the orange electrolytes mixture before capping it and putting it back in the fridge door. "Where're the boys?"

"With Veronica. Writing their poems. How was the workout?" She asks as she turns to glance at her husband. He's wearing black tapered athletic pants, sneakers, a long-sleeved Padres Division Champs t-shirt (a Christmas gift from Veronica's father last year), and a Stanford baseball cap. As he bends down to grab an ice cube from the freezer, she's reminded of one of the features that first attracted her to him when he was a minor league baseball catcher. If only, she thinks, she still looked half as good as he does after all these years. 

"Good. Some of the freshmen need to adjust their attitudes, but it's pretty cool to do some training with them. There are days when I still miss baseball," Mateo says. "What're you doing?"

"Practicing the piano." 

"Funny. I just meant that I thought your mom was bringing all the food," Mateo counters and she hears him crunch on the ice cube. 

Katie stops cutting the fruit in front of her and looks at her husband. "Don't worry. She's bringing the spiced beef and the _hutspot_. And by the way, hers isn't any better than mine," she argues.

"I wasn't implying that, babe," Mateo says. He tosses his cap on the counter and walks up behind her putting his hands on her massive waist. "Just that you shouldn't be doing all this. How's Monster this afternoon?" 

"Ravenous," she says as she steals some grapes from the counter and pops them into her mouth. "There's no way anything this big is going to come out of me."

"Oh, he's coming out. One way or the other, he'll be popping out in, like, 38 days, right?"

Katie closes her eyes briefly and implores the universe, "Please don't let it be more than 6 weeks."

"I'm just glad you can't blame me for this monster child. Those have to be all your genes. Only one of has giant brothers." 

"I do blame you. You talked me into this one," Katie counters. 

"Remind me how that conversation went." 

"You said how about another one and I said OK." 

"Right. I can see how you'd be intimidated by my powerful negotiation skills," Mateo says as he moves her hair and kisses her neck. Katie lifts her shoulders at the feel of his cold lips on her skin. "Let's just pray he's a sleeper." He hopes his hands and mouth will inspire his wife to lean into him, but she doesn't. She keeps working on the task in front of her. They spend too many hours of the day not touching each other. He misses the randy days of her second trimester, replaced by her obvious, but uncomplaining, discomfort of the final weeks. 

"There's no way he could be worse than Rien and we survived," Katie says as she shifts the weight of her enlarged body. 

"Sit down, babe. Let me do this," Mateo says as he pats her rear to shoo her away, and Katie doesn't fight the offer. She takes a seat opposite him while Mateo washes his hands and then picks up the knife his wife's been using. "What else needs to be done?" 

"Set the table. Don't even suggest it. No, we aren't using paper plates. Good china only. Cloth napkins. Flowers. You know how Mom likes to see a table set," Katie says.

In fact, Mateo does know how important the setting of the meal is to Katie's mother, and he won't be the one to disagree with her. Mateo thinks every day how lucky he is to be with Katie and to love her mother, both of her parents, as much as he had his own. The first time he met Anna and Johan on Thanksgiving Eve so many years ago, he knew in that moment he would marry Katie. He would move to Antarctica if that's what she wanted. It didn't matter as long as he could be part of her life, part of her family's life. Since the night he met her, he knew he wanted to be with her for the rest of his days. It wasn't his dream to get married, but he'd compromised so she'd stick around and consent to be his partner. 

Of course, they'd had difficult times. When she was deployed the first time, she had asked him to be faithful to her. He didn't hesitate. He was actually looking forward to the experiment. There wasn't much at that point in his life that challenged him, so several months of celibacy seemed like a way to test his mind and body. When he didn't ask the same of her, she grew restless until she finally asked him if he wanted her to be loyal as well. "I don't give a fuck if you sleep with every goddamn person on the ship as long as you come back to me in one piece. Just as fucking perfect as you are now." It was the most romantic thing she had ever heard him say. 

She left when he was thinking about the start of another season of minor league baseball. This time he'd moved up to AA in Jackson, Tennessee, not far from Memphis. He packed up Katie's Jetta and drove halfway across the country to his new, temporary home. He'd been promoted at the same time as his favorite coach, so they roomed together all summer. When the season ended, he waited for her in Palo Alto. When her tour ended, they sequestered themselves in her apartment. They'd been together a week when he asked her, "Do you want to get engaged or just go to the courthouse?" 

"Is that my proposal?" 

"Yep." 

"Engaged, I think."

"I've got some conditions," Mateo clarified. 

"Go on."

"You keep your name. And our kids have both of our names. Hyphenated. Enough of this patriarchal bullshit."

"Said the guy in the career with absolutely no women in charge." 

"Deal?" Mateo asked.

"Oh no. If you get conditions, I get conditions."

"Name them."

"The kids have Dutch first names." 

"Like I give a shit about that. You name them anything you want. I'll call them whatever the hell I want anyway," Mateo replied. 

"You can't yell for your son at the playground with the terms asshole, shithead, or moron. Understand?" 

"How about dumbfuck?"

"I really need to rethink this engagement," Katie said only half joking. 

"Dutch first names. Deal. What else?" 

"No minivan. No matter how many kids we have. I'm not driving a minivan." 

"You're going to change your mind when you see how much space baseball equipment takes up in a trunk, but OK. That it?"

"One more," Katie answered. "We get a prenup. I don't want access to your trust fund." 

"No fucking way. You deserve more than $100 trillion for putting up with me. Nope. No fucking prenup. Anyway, you're not going to leave me, right?"

"Not planning to." 

"Then that money's there for school and for the kids if anything happens to us." 

"Don't say that. Don't put that out in the universe. Nothing's going to happen," Katie assured. 

They drove to Palo Alto the next morning and Mateo brought out the box that contained his mother's jewelry and gems. Together, they picked out the items they wanted to use and they designed the sapphire and diamond ring she wore home for Christmas that year. 

They'd married at the courthouse after her second deployment and they counted the days until she was free from her commitment to the military. They wanted a baby as soon after her release as possible. When she got pregnant two months after moving her boxes into his home in Palo Alto, he finished the season with the Arizona Diamondbacks and quit baseball. His professional career was over, and he didn't care. All he wanted was to start his new life with his wife and a new baby. And he didn't want to be away from either of them. They had spent enough of their lives apart. 

Stanford had been good to him. They were flexible with his schedule partly because of his parental connections and partly because they wanted his name synonymous with the university when he started his research and publishing. In one way or another, he'd been working on his PhD since his time with the Visalia Rawhide. When they moved back to Palo Alto, he finished his courses and wrote his dissertation. It was approved with a first draft. He was hired by Stanford fulltime soon after that. He credited all of his publishable writings to the edits his wife provided. 

Katie had worked on her master's degree online while still in the navy. When she settled in Palo Alto and regained her sanity by dropping Rien off at daycare, she took a job as an advisor at a local community college. In only two years, she had become a dean of students at the 2-year college. She looked for ways to keep her career moving up, but she avoided Stanford where she only seemed to be known as Mrs. Mateo Khan. She'd been working on her PhD longer than she intended and was beginning to wonder if she would ever complete it. She had to finish; she was tired of being a dean and wanted to be president of a college. Any college. Or Google. She'd also be open to being president of Google. 

And now she's pregnant again. Her career will be put on the back burner. Again. But she had wanted one more baby. When Mateo suggested it, she knew it was because he could read her mind. One more baby. Then they'd stop. The PhD can be put on hold. Again. But her biological clock told her this was the time for her last baby. She worries, however, that she's getting too old to juggle all these things. 

Katie studies the man standing across the island from her. They have a good life. A great life. A life too perfect, perhaps. There may be something in her Calvinistic DNA that worries her that there is something waiting on the other side. In order to have so much good, certainly they will be expected to give up something. There's a constant nagging in her brain that tells her she doesn't deserve the life she has. 

"Wooden shoes are out and filled with straw and carrots. Boxes of chocolate letters can be put at each place setting. My poem is ready. Yours?" asks Katie. 

"I got your dad. He's not someone I care to make fun of, you know? I'm treading lightly with this year's overview on your dad's life. Who'd you get?"

"We're not supposed to tell," Katie answers.

"It's me, isn't it? Go on, tell me what you wrote. Is it about how I knocked you up again first try? About how you can't say no to having babies with me? Can't say no to having sex with me?" Mateo asks winking. How he wishes that last question were true. 

"Yeah, those are just the topics I want to acknowledge in a room filled with my parents and our children."

"And Veronica."

"You've told her all that shit anyway," Katie says with a smile creeping onto her face. 

"We're lucky December 5 is on a Saturday this year. It's so great your parents can be here. I fucking love your mom. She's almost as cool as you."

"Keep sweet talking me and that blow job you placed at the top of your Christmas list might just come true."

"Fucking hell, yes, please," he pleads too earnestly. 

Katie watches him glance back down at cutting the grapes into quarters and knows he's right. She needs to have sex with her husband, but, dear god, she's tired. She gets the boys up and ready and to each of their schools every day, works 9 or 10 hours, makes sure there's food on the table every night so they eat together as a family, does unending amounts of laundry, edits Mateo's articles and chapters, studies for her classes, contends with an overinflated basketball in her abdomen, and then feels guilty about neglecting her husband's carnal needs. She hasn't told her mother Mateo insisted they hire a cleaning service for the house. She thinks she can handle husband guilt, but she's never been able to tolerate her mother's disappointments. Because if there's one thing she's been told over and over again it's that no one cleans like a Dutch woman. 

"What do we do if Will melts down again during dinner?" Katie asks. 

"Hand him off to your dad. We should get him a plaque for Christmas that says: _Johan, The World's Greatest Baby Whisperer_." 

"He's hardly a baby now. That's part of the problem," she says as she shifts on the chair and tries to hold up her stomach with her hands. 

"He's fine. It's a wonder he doesn't hide under his bed all day with the shit his brother throws his way."

"Think they'll ever be friends?" Katie wonders. 

"Yes. Without a doubt. No question. When I checked on them last night, they were both in Rien's bed and Will had his arm around Rien's back."

"So much for my rule about everyone sleeping in his own bed. Why do I bother making these rules?" Katie asks with a sigh.

"They'll be better than friends. They're brothers. Bound by blood and love." 

"It's the blood bonding I fear the most. If you teach Rien to throw a punch, we're in bad shape," says Katie. 

"Me? You need to talk to ma's guy about that, not me." 

"Logan. His name is Logan."

"Yeah, whatever."

"You too should just throw your dicks on the table, measure them, and be done with all your issues." 

"Jesus, who just inhabited by sweet wife's mouth?" Mateo asks and thinks about how few issues he and Logan have these days. The biggest one is that he doesn't understand why Logan insists on maintaining a job that requires him to leave his surrogate mother. They don't need the money. Then there's the other issue. Their inability to speak to each other without picking at one another. He thinks they actually do like each other, probably even respect each other. But no one would know that by the hard time they give each other. 

"Speaking of dicks, did you get a message from Trey?" Katie asks her husband about his best friend. The tension thickens in the room.

"Uh, yeah." 

"Gabby said he might be stopping by around Christmas," Katie says. "He'll be coming in from Korea, I think."

"I don't think you're supposed to know where he is and I'm sure you aren't supposed to be talking about it if you do know," Mateo says with his voice lowered. 

"Obviously, it's not classified or I wouldn't know. Anyway, do you think our kitchen is bugged? Can they hear us at the Pentagon or the CIA?" 

Mateo brushes off his wife's sarcasm. He usually enjoys the bit of acid in her personality when she's pregnant, not that he would tell her that, but he already knows he doesn't like where the conversation is headed. "He'll be here the 27th and 28th." 

"And?" Katie asks pushing her husband to continue. 

"I was going to talk to you about that. But, you know, maybe after this weekend. After your parents leave." 

"Now's good."

"I was hoping he could stay here and that we could get together with the old gang. You know, a night out," Mateo says fascinated by the fruit he's scooping into the bowl. 

"Is _she_ going to be around?"

"Don't know. But if she is and I'm there, I'll be able to keep an eye on him." 

"Mat, they have a new baby." 

"I know that." 

"He can't stay here if he's going to see her. That. That. Zia. His fucking side piece."

"I heard she's engaged. I'm sure it won't happen again," he says. 

"Like something as minor as marriage vows would stop them," Katie answers. "Gabby's one of my best friends. What do you want me to say to her if he doesn't spend the night here?" 

"And he's my best friend." 

"You're terrible at keeping secrets. You'll never be able to be in the same room with her if you know he's cheated on her again," Katie states and wonders how they will pick sides if their friends' marriage falls apart. She is certain she will be expected to be kind to Trey because Mateo won't discard his constant, his bro, his bestie, the man who brought so many tears to her friend's face. 

"He's not going to," Mateo says with less than zero confidence in the statement. "You could come out with us. Have a fun night. Away from the kids and the house. We don't do that as much as we should." 

"Yeah, a beached whale is a lot of fun at a bar. I'd just be reminding your friends what they're trying to escape for the night. And who'd watch the kids? Veronica will be in London and my parents will be with Kees. We don't have a lot of options of people who aren't unnerved by Rien." 

"Let's leave Rini on his own. See what kind of destruction he can make." Mateo tries to steer the conversation away from the infidelities of his best friend. When Katie found out about the transgressions, she'd changed her tone with her husband. It was as if she finally realized it was possible that they could become their friends, they could fall apart and all it would take was one night of mistakes. No matter how much Mateo told her he loved her, she saw the temptations that lurked around the corner. 

He had to admit it frightened him to know she wasn't always solid. Only a year ago, he had still been naive enough to believe their marriage could survive anything. That they would work through any problems. Together. As a team. When he saw Katie's reaction to Gabby's version of Trey's infidelity, news he had begged Trey not to tell him so he wouldn't have to lie to either of their wives, their marriage dynamic changed. 

He was now convinced his wife would leave him if he fucked up. That she would take his children and move across the globe just to punish him. If she couldn't forgive her friend's cheating husband, there would be no way she would give him a pass. It was strange to him. He'd never contemplated being with anyone other than his wife. But now that his friend had done it, he didn't think about cheating, but he thought about the consequences. Constantly. And he's not sure he could survive. He can hardly handle his anxiety when his sons spend a few nights at their loving, reliable, not-so-far-away grandparents' home. 

"He'll have sold Will on the black market while we're gone," Katie says. She's tired of talking about a subject she detests, so she follows Mateo's lead and moves on to the next topic on her mind. "So, what do you think about Gerrit?" She reaches over to the stack of scrap paper and sharpened pencils that always sits on the edge of the counter waiting to be repurposed for one of Mat's many lists, Will's letter practicing, or Rien's drawings. 

Mateo closes his eyes briefly and tries to find the reference Katie is making. When he comes up empty, he accepts defeat and asks, "Sorry, babe, who?"

"For the baby's name. Gerrit. With a hard American 'g', not a Dutch 'g'. Maybe Gerrit Thijs." She turns the paper towards him so he can see the name she's written. 

"I thought we agreed no naming the kids after anyone in my family. Especially not me. No one needs that fucking burden." 

"No one is going to know Thijs is for you." 

"Your family will." 

"It sounds good together, though, don't you think? Gerrit Thijs Mulder-Khan," Katie says as her voice and face soften. She pictures walking into their home with another baby wrapped in a blue blanket and topped with a blue beanie cap. She's 98% sure Mateo won't cheat on her, and maybe the third baby will add the remaining 2% to her mental statistics. 

"No one will have any idea how to pronounce it or spell it. You guys and your 'ij' words."

"If you want to shorten it, we could call him Geert," she says as she writes that below the full name. 

"Again, no one's going to be able to spell it. But if it's what you want, it's fine." 

"Fine or good?" 

"It's great, babe. I love it. Rien, Willem, and Gerrit - the Mulder brothers. Maybe with those names we'll be able to sneak them onto the Dutch national baseball team." 

**********

The table looks beautiful with the pink and yellow tulips Mateo found at Trader Joe's. The wooden shoes are lined up on the windowsill since their mantle sits above a fake fireplace. The house is ready for family, traditions, love, and laughter. Katie lies on top of their bed until she hears the water turn off from Mateo's shower. She makes her way down the stairs to the living room couch, making a pit stop at the room she sees too often this far into her pregnancy. She hopes Will had more of a nap today than she did. She has no delusions that Rien slept. 

She's just taken a seat on the couch when she hears keys in the door and a small face darts in under Veronica's arm. Willem runs to his mother and puts his cheek on her belly. She places her hand on his head. "Hi Mostir. Mist me? Love you," the little boy says as he turns his head and kisses her swollen abdomen. Without acknowledging his mother, he turns his body and attention to the window and looks for any signs of the white-bearded, mitre-topped, horse-riding, red-robed saint who will bring presents during the night. 

"Hey, gang," Katie says. "Thanks for spending time with the boys, Veronica. How were they? Did they behave? How was your afternoon?" 

"We talked to Logan," Rien says and sits down next to his mother. She puts her arm around him and he leans into her side. He slings one arm over her stomach and puts his hand flat on her bump. He never tires of feeling the magic of a human being moving inside another human being. 

"What'd he have to say?" Katie asks. She wouldn't give up her life or trade her most challenging offspring, but there are times when she's jealous of Logan. Of his plane. Of his freedom. Of his relationship with her son. 

"He's been crazy busy. That's why he didn't send the email. He couldn't because he's so important and so many people depend on him," Rien says with unwavering devotion in his voice. 

"Yeah, I bet that's exactly what he said," Mateo chides as he comes down the stairs pulling his sweater over his head. "The whole world depends on him. Too important to be here." 

"Hi, Daddy," Will's little voice says from below the window. He's slouched under the parade of shoes and is looking at the pictures in the vintage _Tales Told in Holland_ book. He's careful not to damage the antique, and he knows just which page shows Sinterklaas arriving in the Netherlands on his classic Dutch boat. 

"Hey, bubble," Mateo greets as he tousles the hair of his younger son and then turns to tap his older son on the head. "Were you nice at your Non's, _schatje_?" 

"Rien's always mean," Will states. 

"I was nice to Non," Rien avoids. "And to Logan." 

"Be nice to everyone tonight," Mateo warns and turns to look at the other favorite woman in his life. "Hiya, ma. Thanks for putting up with these beasts again. Let me help."

"And happy Sinterklaas night to you, kid," Veronica says as he walks up to her and takes the tray of desserts from her hands. She follows him to the kitchen and hangs her purse on the back of the chair near the computer station. A stack of Rien's baseball cards sits next to the keyboard tied together with thick rubber bands. "Don't say that shit about Logan in front of the boys," she says with her voice lowered. "We decided together he should stay in. It's what he wants. I'm not going to ask him to give up something he loves." 

"He's supposed to love you," Mateo counters. 

"He loves more than one thing." 

"You're not a thing. We only have so much time on this planet. We should be with the ones we love most as often as possible," Mateo says as he takes the bowl of fruit from the refrigerator and places it on the table. "If it was his only option, then fine. But it's not." 

"We can't keep having the same discussion and you can't tell a grown man what decision he should make. Just like you can't tell me not to go to London." 

"That's different."

"How?" Veronica asks. 

"Mac and the girls deserve you, too. I can't be selfish and want you to just be here with us. I don't have a problem sharing you. I have a problem that he left you again. Fuck, that he left Rien again," he says and it kills him to admit that last thought. "It's a night for family. He should be here. With us. His family." 

"I know you think it's crazy, that most people think it's crazy, but our weird, non-traditional relationship works for us," Veronica contends. "It's just as well he's gone a few more months. I can go to London without guilt. Ian and I need to hammer out this next book. We're on deadline." 

"My ma, the best-selling detective novelist. Never in a million fucking years would I have guessed that when you first showed up in my life." 

"That's what makes life so interesting," Veronica comments as the doorbell rings. "I'm closest. I'll get it." 

Veronica opens the door and the two boys run screaming to their grandparents. "Oma. Opa," they say in unison. Mateo makes his way to the couple and kisses his mother-in-law three times starting on the left side. Perhaps the tradition he enjoys the most from Katie's family is the ever-present Dutch kiss. He notices Johan smiles before his father-in-law bends down with the same greeting for Veronica. Mateo takes the dishes from their hands and Veronica snags their lightweight coats. The doting grandparents pick up their grandsons and head to the living room near their daughter. It's a relief for Mateo to witness Katie smile so brightly before being surrounded by her father's gigantic wingspan. 

Veronica follows Mateo into the kitchen where he starts to warm up the food Katie's parents delivered. "Everything's going to be OK, Mat," Veronica says as he turns away from the stove and looks at her. 

"Yeah, of course," he responds with little conviction. 

"What's up?" she asks knowing his moods so well and aware that his earlier rant about her boyfriend had little to do with Logan. 

"You're leaving. I don't mean to make you feel guilty, but we've never brought a baby home without being able to depend on you."

"If you can't handle it, just call. I can be back in hours," Veronica says knowing she won't want to leave her friends and work in London but relieved to know her absence will be felt. She also knows Katie will never allow Mateo to request Veronica's return. And neither she nor Katie have told him yet of their plan to ship the two older boys to their grandparents' home when the baby arrives. 

"Do you think Katie seems happy?" Mateo asks and the question confounds Veronica. She's never believed Katie would allow herself to be anything other than content in whatever situation she chose for herself.

"Katie doesn't confide in me, Mat. She knows my loyalties are with you. She's always kind and polite to me. And to Logan. Always," Veronica responds and pauses. "Do you think she's unhappy?" 

"Not really. But sometimes I don't think she's the same person she was 10 years ago." 

"Who is?" 

"She worries," Mateo says but Veronica smiles knowing it's not just Katie who worries. 

"She has a lot to worry about," Veronica responds. "She does so much, and a swaddling infant isn't going to ease her load. And with your book coming out in February. That's a lot. Congrats on the early reviews, by the way." 

"The pre-pre-pre reviews. I haven't even seen a copy of the book yet, so I don't know how there can be reviews." 

"They're saying you're the Malcolm Gladwell of economics."

"Then he must be a super fucking asshole because we both know I've never grown out of that description," says Mateo. 

"You'll have a new baby when the book comes out. You'll be giving interviews and readings and if the buzz is any indication, you're going to be famous. Well, famous to pretentious, poser intellectuals, but famous none the less. And your wife will be nursing one baby while chauffeuring your other two kids around Palo Alto." 

"You're making me feel guilty." 

"Do you ever thank her for all she does for this family?" Veronica asks. 

Mateo looks at his watch. "Christ, I just thanked her a few hours ago." 

Veronica shakes her head and lets out a small laugh. "Do you two ever take a break? You're like baby-making machines." 

"I wish. God, do I wish. No, I thanked her by going to the store and leaving her alone in the house for a couple of hours. I thought she'd take a nap, but when I came home, she'd made another salad, set the table, wrapped presents, and picked up the playroom and the boys' bedroom. And all I can think about is how I'd like some kind, any kind of sex with my beautiful wife. I wasn't being altruistic. I hoped she'd rest so she'd be awake enough to have sex with me tonight." 

"So, then not exactly a thank-you." 

"What do you suggest?"

"I don't know. How about the words 'thank you'?" Veronica answers. 

"That seems a little anti-climatic," Mateo says. "Sorry, was that pun or innuendo or double entendre or something?" 

"I think it's an anti-pun," Veronica tries to joke. 

"What's the new book about?" Mateo asks. This will be the fourth in the "Banks and Hyde" detective series from Ian and Veronica. Their joint venture in the private detective business lasted only a few months until they started a silly email chain writing a story to each other in parts. Six months into the correspondence, they both realized it wasn't half bad. They restructured it into book format and sent it to an agent Ian knew from university. The rest, they say, is history. 

Their first book sat in the middle of the best seller list until Keira Knightley was caught in a paparazzi photo carrying a copy of the book. Rumors began that she was thinking about buying the movie rights to the book and would become Banks in a succession of films. The photo boosted the book's position. It wasn't Keira Knightley, however, who bid for and wound up with the movie rights. It was Ruth Negga. She and her actor boyfriend were slated to premiere as the detective team in the first film next summer. 

"There's this murder in London, see, and there's this private detective team, see, one man and one woman, see, and they solve the mystery." 

"Working out the details yet, I see," Mateo says with a smile. 

"In the movie, the male detective isn't gay. Instead, I think the two are going to have this wild sexual chemistry. I'm not sure that's the best way to go with the main characters, but we don't have much say in the matter."

"Book's always better than the movie anyway, right?" Mateo questions. 

"And real life is always better than the movies. Or the books," Veronica replies. 

"In other words, I should shut the fuck up, get out of my head, and be happy with every moment we have together." 

"Is that what I said?" Veronica asks. "I don't think I would have put it in quite those terms. But, yeah. Stop worrying, Mat."

"I can't help it. What if something bad is waiting for us to falter?" 

"You've had enough bad stuff already. Some of us frontload the tragedies early in life so we can have a more peaceful midlife," Veronica assures. She thinks less and less of the hardships that defined her teen years. The mother she lost, the friends who vanished, the love it took so long to regain. The tragedies no longer define or hinder her. 

"I hope you're right. Of course, you're right. You're always right," Mateo says. 

"Love your boys. Love Katie. Learn how to deal with difficult moments and happy times. You'll be OK. You'll all be OK."

"I'm gonna miss you," Mateo says stating the obvious. "I'm never quite right when you aren't three blocks away." 

"I wouldn't leave you, wouldn't leave the boys if I knew you couldn't handle it. You've got this," she says standing on her tiptoes to reach his head. She rubs his thick wavy hair. "Don't doubt yourself, kid. You and Katie can do this."

"Love you, ma," Mateo says as he taps the top of her head. 

They walk back to the living room and hear the tail end of Will's tiny, off-key voice singing one of the songs he hopes will bring Sinterklaas to their home. " _Dank u, Sinterklaasje_ ," the high-pitched voice ends. 

Veronica leaves Mat's side and moves to the far side of the room. As they gather in the living room to tell stories from their lives, sing, laugh, and love, Mateo stops at the stairs and surveys the room. He watches Veronica settle on the floor next to Rien who sits near his grandfather's feet. Katie sneaks up next to Mateo and wraps both arms around his waist. He drops his arm over her shoulder and kisses the top of her head before leaning his forehead against her. This is the moment that makes the worry and the stress and the tantrums and the dry spells worth it. He's worked too hard to miss out on or mess up these perfect moments. He lost both of his parents too soon, but he knows there can't be a luckier asshole in the entire world.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for indulging me yet again with this story about Veronica, Logan, Mateo, and Katie. I wanted to illustrate some of Katie's heritage in this story, and I hope you enjoy the Dutch-ness of her life. Happy (belated) Sinterklaas night!


End file.
